


Advanced Mixology and Reintroduction to Statistics

by Bequeathment_Sperm



Series: Divergence Theory [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Gen, NOT J/A Endgame, the 5 timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bequeathment_Sperm/pseuds/Bequeathment_Sperm
Summary: Timeline 05 Post-S03E04: While stuck alone in his apartment during a snow storm, Jeff Winger deals with the fallout caused by the awkward kiss he shared with Annie Edison.
Series: Divergence Theory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849432
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Advanced Mixology and Reintroduction to Statistics

The night was bitingly chilly; easily the coldest in had been this year. Overlooking the balcony, he peered at the incoming snow clouds, his fingers growing numb as they pressed against glass. _More of that again, I guess. This week just won’t let up, and it’s not even winter yet._ Frozen wind howled outside, forcing trees to make their decision: bend or break. He backed away from the windowsill, his fingers regaining their senses as they were tucked back into his robes. The night was cold, but his room was colder still.

Closed shutters across his windows tried, but failed to keep out the effects of the storm. _Three straight days of non-stop snow to date._ Gusts with ice-cold droplets pelted themselves against his walls, causing his glass-pane windows to shudder. The outer winds seethed through both vents and hinges alike, leaving a persistent whistle in the air. Truth be told, he hated the whistling and should have fixed it earlier, but never bothered getting around to get them repaired because he was too busy spending time with his friends outside of his apartment, rather than in it.

He turned away from the downpour, and looked towards the bedroom: devoid of joy. A lamp glowed dimly with false fluorescent warmth on top of his bedside stand. His bed was empty and unkept, characteristically unlike him since he had often kept it meticulously arranged on the off-chance of unexpected lady visitors. And a half-empty bottle Macallan with the cap twisted off on table across it.

Ignoring all those, he walked aimlessly towards his closet door and just stared into it with empty eyes. At the bottom lay a collection of memorabilia from previous lovers: among them were panties from a hot blonde from his Spanish class, several bras from a college Professor gone-missing, and a hoodie from a girl who somehow decided to pronounce “Kettle Corn” with a ‘QU’. Above them all and entirely separate was a bright pink sweater hung neatly along one of his coat hangers. She left it at a friend’s place a during the last party they hung out together in, so he figured he’d take it and hand it to her when he saw her next. He’d to see her soon, he told himself; the girl he had kissed twice. No, thrice now, he reminded himself. Though he preferred that the last of those memories would soon have to fade away. It had to.

He sighed deeply after staring a bit too long at the sweater before shutting the closet doors before heading to his desk to take a shot of whiskey. It stung his throat and hurt like hell, but it was cold outside. If he had to be honest with himself, he felt cold inside too and would do just about anything to make himself feel warm again. Normally, he’d appreciate Colorado’s cold at this time of year; and whenever he was intimate with someone, he’d appreciate it even more because it would keep them close when they were doing the deed, then keep them gone when they were done. That plus it kept other people out.

He took his bottle out to the hallway, slumped his body deep onto the couch and exhaled deeply after taking another swig. He hadn’t checked his phone in days; another anomaly that his friends surely had picked up on since the party came to an abrupt end as soon as the pizzas were done. He knew he should check his phone. He knew that his friends had likely messaged to check up on him; that she would have messaged him. But he didn’t know what to say.

What do you say to a girl who you’ve been pining over for two years? What do you say after she kisses you but then states nonchalantly that you reminded her of her dad? And what do you say when you push her back and double-down on the age insecurity that’s been holding you back from even beginning to consider a relationship with her by telling her to ease up on the bubblegum lip gloss? 

Jeffery Winger downed the last ounce of scotch with a scowl. 11:35 PM. It was late; she would clearly be asleep, but that’s what voicemail was for. And he needed to get this off his chest now before he’d lose his nerve, so he reached for his phone and unlocked it.

Zero missed calls. One new message from Abed thanking him for the $20 that he handed to him for the Pizza that day. And a group chat of oddly unfriendly well-wishes from his friends telling each other to stay safe from the snow-in and that they’d see each other soon for the upcoming Halloween pre-party that Britta was hosting. Britta was clearly upset with Shirley. And Shirley was stonewalling her, likely from some self-created religious high ground. Troy, for some reason, had shared a picture of a burnt figurine that resembled a disfigured troll. Jeff made a double take to see if he read it right, but it seemed like Pierce was apologizing. He must’ve been more drunk thank he thought.

Nothing from Annie other than a general well-wish and a query regarding the location of her jacket to which Abed replied that it was with Jeff. Then that message train went cold. She was clearly avoiding him; a sharp pang hit his chest as it dawned on him, flooding Jeff Winger with three main emotions: 

A firm denial that this was happening. _Why was everyone still fighting? It’s been three days._  
Misplaced anger, towards whom, he couldn’t exactly decide. But likely on himself; _I should’ve just gotten that damned pizza._  
But most of all, a crippling feeling of loneliness, stemming from the fact that nobody had bothered to check up on him at all.

In a moment of weakness, despite knowing his state and current inebriety, he called her number. With his earlier speech long forgotten, he waited patiently for the rings to end and to be sent to voicemail. Usually, he’d like to be prepared during times like this but as a former lawyer, he had gotten confident in his ability to _wing_ it. What he didn’t expect at all was for her to pick up.

“Hello..? Jeff? What are you,” she asked him. He cuts her off.

“Please. I know I messed up. What I did to you back then… you didn’t deserve it and I wish I could take it back. I should have treated you with more respect. I was just… scared. Scared I’d mess it up. And I did. I did mess up. Please. Pretty please. I’m so lonely. I just want to talk,” Jeff managed to let out through slurred speech. He could hear her make a light chuckle.

“If you recall, you’ve used that line on me already before, Mr. Winger. And I remember the last two times I gave you a chance, you walked out on me. Not going to beg for sex this time?” she joked sarcastically. Jeff trailed off, “Michelle…”

“I’m not going to give you a third one. Good night, Jeff.” Michelle Slater hung up, leaving him alone with himself, the falling snow and the empty bottle of Macallan that had now rolled under his coffee table. Jeffery knew that he should have washed his face, try to sober up and give himself one of those classic internal monologue Winger speeches that he’d use to motivate himself to keep going. But for tonight, he was just done. He’d do it in the morning, he promised himself. So Jeffery Winger closed his eyes and let his head spin as thoughts of his phone call with ex-Professor Slater, the Study group, Annie Edison and her pretty pink sweater all just fade away.


End file.
